


don’t play with fire (unless you want to get burned)

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Burnplay, Cigarettes, F/M, Minor Severus/Lucius/Narcissa, PWP, Polyamory, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Narcissa finds a way to pass the time.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Severus Snape
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	don’t play with fire (unless you want to get burned)

**Author's Note:**

> if you look beside ‘self-indulgent’ in the dictionary, you’ll find this fic as an example.
> 
> for [daily deviant’s](https://daily-deviant.dreamwidth.org/36841.html) august theme ‘stockings.’ comes with the **additional warnings:** smoking, burnplay (cigarette burns, mentions of past wax play), under-negotiated kink (though there are no consequences since… it’s fic), and cunnilingus.
> 
> many thanks to [diabolica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabolica) for the beta. enjoy! ❤︎

“He should be back already.”

Severus paces, heavy boots leaving dents in Narcissa’s favourite rug as he walks the strip in front of her. Narcissa pays him little mind. She sits on a settee, sprawled like she belongs in a Breitner, pale hair hanging over her shoulders as she rests her head on a bed of pillows, summer robe slit at the side and stockinged feet propped on the opposite armrest.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she says, focused more on the book in her hands than his fretting. _Awakening Fertility,_ reads the cover when Severus spares a glance.

“He’s your husband.” He comes to a halt in front of her. “You should be more concerned than I am.”

Narcissa laughs, a huff of a thing. Her head turns, and Severus can see her mouth, curved on one side, her chin dimpled. “You worry too much, darling,” she says, as if he were eleven again, and she the indulgent girlfriend of his only Slytherin friend. “Lucius can take care of himself.”

It’s said with the confidence expected of the blissfully ignorant. There isn’t a whisper of doubt in her tone, and Severus is struck with how little she knows, of how little they tell her. It was a calculated decision, or so Lucius had said: Tell her enough to get by, but not enough to land her in trouble. It’d seemed perfectly reasonable when first explained, but now… Severus finds he is becoming accustomed to the feeling of guilt and the heavy weight it leaves on his heart. Narcissa is hardly his worst offence.

“It’s you I’m worried about,” Narcissa continues.

She closes her book and rests it on her breast, her arm lifted, beckoning. Severus obeys the quiet command and moves to join her. She lifts her legs so he can sit, her feet resting in his lap once he’s settled; his hand drops to her calf intrinsically, fingertips rubbing over the ridges of her stockings with absentminded strokes.

“Here,” Narcissa says. His cigarette holder appears in her hand with a lazy flick of her wand. She pulls one out for him, holding it carefully between her fingers.

Severus accepts it, lighting the tip with murmured magic. He takes a drag and waits for the relief to hit, head dropping back against the settee’s edge as his eyes close. He exhales slowly. “I thought smoking inside was improper,” he says, sarcastic. He doesn’t have to look to know Narcissa is rolling her eyes.

 _A filthy Muggle habit,_ is what she’d said the first time she’d caught him smoking. The second, third, and fourth time, too. He’d eventually convinced her to try it, though, unexpected arousal burning through him as he’d watched her lips close around the filter, her hand keeping his close as he held the cigarette to her mouth, the lips that’d brushed his skin silky-soft and damp.

“Don’t be difficult on purpose,” Narcissa tells him, now. Her toes dig into his thigh, high enough that intrigue stirs in Severus’ abdomen. He swallows and takes another drag.

Lucius has been gone for three days on the Dark Lord’s orders—a confidential mission, he’d called it. Severus doesn’t know the details, just that Bellatrix and her husband had gone with him, meaning whatever it was they were doing had to be dangerous. Meaning there was a high likelihood of imprisonment or injury, or something worse. The longer Lucius takes to return, the more Severus’ mind fixates on the worst case scenario.

Narcissa draws him out of his thoughts. “Really.” Her foot prods him again. “Do you know how to relax?”

Severus opens his eyes to look at her. “Sorry. They didn’t teach that one in the slums.”

There’s a bite to it, but his heart’s not in the hostility. He flicks his cigarette, the ash banished with a wave of his hand, and ignores the look Narcissa sends him _._ Rather than speak, she indicates towards the cigarette expectantly. Severus leans across to let her take a drag.

He still loves the way she looks when she does it. The way she doesn’t break eye contact. The way she tilts her head up, to the left, the exhale of smoke aimed away. The way she always coughs after: quietly, like she’s trying to hide it. It adds to her humanity, somehow. Severus had thought her so unattainable that very first time, as if she were some sort of elevated deity, so far above him that his attraction couldn’t have been anything but ridiculous, redundant—or so he’d told himself.

He’d eventually been proved wrong. He still has trouble believing it.

Momentarily distracted, he doesn’t notice Narcissa shift until she’s already tugging him forward, forcing him closer _._ He only just manages to catch himself, free hand clutching the lounge’s corner as Narcissa grabs his chin and pulls him into a kiss, the press of her mouth anything but chaste.

“Worrying won’t make him come back any sooner,” she says after, certain in the way only a person who’d learnt that lesson could be. She taps his jaw. “Distraction is a better approach.”

Severus arches an eyebrow. “Not to mention more satisfying.”

It’s the silent end to her sentence and he knows it; speaking it is just confirmation. _Consent_.

He shifts to rest more comfortably on top of her, lifting the cigarette away from where it’d splattered the couch with ash. Narcissa follows the act, eyeing the tip, and Severus is suddenly reminded of the night before Lucius had left. Of how he’d arrived at the Manor to find Lucius stood over a naked Narcissa, lit candle held in hand. _Watch,_ Lucius had said, _and learn,_ and Severus had done just that, mesmerised at the sight of wax spilling over Narcissa’s bare skin, at the way she’d reacted to it. The sounds she’d made: pleasure and pain morphing into one. He hadn’t been able to look away.

Severus watches her now and snorts. “Masochist.”

Narcissa smiles. She bends her knee and presses it to his half-hard cock. “What does that make you?”

A multitude of things, Severus thinks, few of them good. He kisses her again to avoid responding, his teeth catching her bottom lip and biting, free hand pushing aside her book to cup her breast. “You want me to burn you,” he says, half-asking, his thumb flicking over her nipple through layers of fabric. Excitement ripples through him at the thought.

Narcissa groans softly. She leans into his touch, shifting to accommodate him better; her legs part, her outer foot dropping to the floor, body opening like an invitation. “Unless you have a better idea?”

Severus doesn’t; there are few things, he thinks, that are better than _this_. He pushes aside Narcissa’s robe, the fabric bunching easily, her lower body exposed. The stockings she wears are only a shade darker than her skin. Semi-sheer, they cling to her legs and sit high above her hips. It’s obvious she wears nothing underneath.

He runs a hand over her stomach, any marks left by the wax already healed, and brings the cigarette to his mouth. “Where?” he asks, speaking around the filter.

Narcissa twitches in anticipation. “Wherever you want,” she tells him, and the power of it is as arousing as what she’s asking him to do.

Severus takes a drag of the dying cigarette and eyes Narcissa’s body. There will be no marks left from this, either; she is too beautiful, Severus thinks, for him to brand, though a part of him wishes for nothing more. He brushes his fingers over a sensitive spot on her inner thigh, a little way above her knee, and follows the touch with the tip of the cigarette. It sears through the stockings and burns her skin, and Narcissa moans even as she flinches; it sits stuck in her throat, mouth open as her body battles between pleasure and pain. Severus’ stomach jolts at the sight. 

He only holds it to her skin for a moment. Knows that cigarette burns are a far cry from wax play, that Narcissa’s tolerance for it will be low. He wants to ease her into it.

“Alright?” he asks, discarding the butt. His fingers twitch for another.

Narcissa nods. She offers him his cigarette holder in lieu of verbal confirmation: a silent request for more. Severus extracts another one and lights it.

Sitting between Narcissa’s legs as he is, he can see the flutter of her stomach, the way anticipation ripples through her lower abdomen. She holds her breath on instinct, watching as he first takes a drag and then moves the tip toward her. This time, he holds it to her skin longer, the mark that’s left behind more prominent than the last. Pale skin burns a bright red, tobacco’s pungent scent filling the room as Severus shifts to soothe the burn with his mouth, Narcissa’s pained hiss breaking off to something sweeter as he traces the wound with his tongue.

He repeats the motion. Burns holes through Narcissa’s stockings and into her flesh until she’s a withering mess beneath him. Until the pain is too much. Narcissa stops him with a hand on his wrist, and Severus doesn’t fight it, just shifts to kiss her, mouth moving down her neck, her jaw, the parts of her chest exposed by the cut of her robe. He ends up back between her legs, where her stockings are damp with her arousal: evidence of her enjoyment. Evidence of her _desire_.

It makes Severus feel powerful like nothing else.

He presses two fingers to her clit through her stockings and revels in the reaction. Narcissa arches up, her hand already there, brushing his neck, urging him forward. Severus doesn’t need much encouragement; he presses his mouth to Narcissa’s cunt, the ridges of her stockings pressing against his tongue as he licks her open as best he can with the barrier, his fingers digging into the burn marks where he grips her thigh. She jerks beneath him, a mess of sensation, and he pushes her hip down to hold her in place, the choked gasp she makes going straight to his cock.

“ _Severus_ ,” hisses Narcissa. It’s strained, leaking with desperation. A litany of swears follow his name, and Severus groans against her, arousal burning his body from the inside out.

He wants, desperately, to reach a hand down and ease the ache of his cock. Or better yet, he wants to pull her stockings down and spread her open, wants to fuck into her with deep thrusts and lose himself in the pleasure. But he knows it’s worth waiting. That the payoff will more than make up for ache of desperation. Narcissa has never been one to rush these things; she likes the game of longevity. It’s why, Severus thinks, two lovers suit her better.

He gets her off with his mouth, rips a hole through her stockings and sucks her clit, all the while pressing fingers into the burns he’d left behind, the wounds hypersensitive, the pain a counterpart to her pleasure. When she comes, it’s with a choked groan and a quiet command to _fuck her,_ her fingers twisted in lank locks as she pulls him up by the hair, her mouth seeking his.

It’s as he’s discarding her stockings, one hand fumbling with his own trousers, his cock hard and hot and aching, that Lucius returns with a soft _pop._

Severus is defensive on instinct. It takes a moment for him to realise there’s no need to reach for his wand and prepare himself for a fight. He stills where he kneels between Narcissa’s legs, eyes scanning Lucius for any signs of harm. There aren’t any: He looks much as he had the night he’d left, if more amused.

“Well,” Lucius says. He doesn’t move, just looks between them. “This is quite the welcome home.”

He’s surprised, not upset, but it still makes part of Severus feel as if he were a student again, caught in the midst of doing something he had no business being around; it’s a reflex he’s not sure he’ll ever outgrow, no matter how many times Lucius and Narcissa assure him of his place in their relationship. He moves to pull away, but Narcissa stops him with a hand on his arm, her grip tight enough to hold him in place.

“We got bored waiting,” she explains, and the note of desperation that’s still clear in her voice makes Severus’ cock twitch with need. He struggles to stay still in the silence, head turned to catch Lucius’ reaction.

The silence doesn’t last long. One moment Lucius is watching with raised eyebrows, and the next he’s stepping forward, hands reaching for the collar of his robe.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says. He discards his outer layers, intentions of joining clear.

Severus suppresses a moan.


End file.
